


Unravel

by TheGreenFaery



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22540510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenFaery/pseuds/TheGreenFaery
Summary: The Red Thread of Fate. It can be a beautifully crafted bow atop a picture perfect package, or it can leave you tangled up in knots. But what happens when it all just starts to unravel?A mostly self-indulgent AU slice-of-life drama filled with headcanon and whimsy.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Comments: 23
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach nor any of its characters.

Life had not been kind to Saito Daichi. Nevertheless, it was two o’ clock on a Tuesday morning in the middle of June and he was satisfactorily numb. Three bottles of cheap saké will do that to a man.

Yes, he was satisfactorily numb, he thought, but the numbness would never dull the pain. He was too old, too jaded for that relief.

He thought of his wife. His daughter.

His old home, Iwate.

The old mine.

The explosion.

The excruciating agony.

They all said he was lucky. Seventeen men had been killed in the blast. But those seventeen men didn’t have to suffer endless misery and medical bills. Nor did they have to endure the humiliation having to learn to walk again, to talk again.

They didn’t have to watch their toddler grow from their bed; so close and yet so very, very far. They didn’t have to watch their wife struggle to provide for their family.

By the time the physical wounds had healed, the memory was still too raw. There was nothing left. Not in Iwate. And so they moved to Karakura Town, a small but growing city to the west of Tokyo.

It worked for a while. He got a job at a local canning factory, Su-Mei was busy as a seamstress, and Hisana was getting on well at the local school.

But times change. Technology advanced. The recession hit hard. The factory closed, and with it, another chapter of his life.

The drink, however? The drink was a constant companion. The drink could dull what his wife would never understand.

His wife.

Kami, how he loved her. Truly, he did…

She would go on. She was a fighter. She was still young and beautiful and perfect. She would live. She would thrive. She would move on.

Hisana.

That precious angel. His precious angel. She would forgive him. In time.

The tears caught in his throat as he thought back to the days she would host imaginary tea parties on his bed. If he couldn’t come down to her, she would come up to him. Those big violet eyes staring at him as she asked him how he liked to take his tea. Or maybe he’d prefer coffee. Or hot chocolate. She could make those, too. In her magical café.

Magical.

She was.

She’d like the view from up here. So many colours. Dancing.

She loves colour. She loves to dance. So big and so bold. So beautiful.

She’d like the view from up here…

The water. The lights. Reflecting.

A ballet in the abyss.

She’d forgive him, in time. They both would. Maybe even forget. He didn’t mind. They deserved so much. So much more than he could give.

He should go now. Before the pain gets too much. His bones. His body. Weary. Aching. Cold.

He liked the view from up here.

But he wanted to go home now.

He liked the view.

He wanted to go.

The view.

Go.


	2. Remarkable

Kuchiki Byakuya hated spring. Correction: he hated April. Specifically, he hated Fresher’s week.

That very first day of his first year, it was a novelty. By the second day, it was getting annoying. By the end of the week, he very much felt like he wanted to murder someone. Probably Shiba Kaien.

He would have gotten away with it. He might have even been awarded a medal for doing the general population a massive favour.

By his third year, he was so pissed off at constantly being asked _“which way to media studies?”_ or _“which way for fashion design?”_ or _“what time does the bus get here?”_ or _“excuse me, can you hold my hand while I take a shit?”_ he nearly lost his mind. He’d ended up printing off hundreds of maps of a college he didn’t attend and timetables to public transport that he never used just so that whenever one of those pathetic individuals so much as looked his way, he could shove those bits of paper in their faces and leave them to hopefully die a slow, painful death by papercut.

Really, what idiot decided to build a _community_ _art college_ next to a _prestigious law school_? And, more to the point, what idiot decided that the students should be forced to share local amenities?

It was now his fourth year of putting up with ridiculously stupid morons with their ridiculously stupid hairstyles and their ridiculously stupid fashion trends when all he wanted was his espresso (make that a double) to go and to get to his lecture without being harassed and assaulted by masses of acne-ridden, libidinous, over-grown children. And, no, he wasn’t being melodramatic _at all_ , thank you very much, Professor Shihōin.

“Excuse me.” Oh, for the love of-

“Excuse me!” Seriously, he’d come in an hour early to avoid this.

“Sir, excuse me. Sir!” They were now actually _touching his arm_. Just who the hell did they think they wer-?

Oh.

“Hey,” a remarkably pretty pair of dark violet eyes stared up at him through a long feathered fringe, “I think you dropped this.” Her cheeks flushed pink with exertion as she held up a silver tiepin, its tiny embedded sapphire glinting in the light. A couple of seconds passed and she began to frown, puzzled. “Is it not yours? I thought I saw it fall-,” she pointed towards the café.

“Yes.”

Smooth, Kuchiki, _smooth_.

Yet, for some reason, her face instantly brightened.

“Oh, good.” She was smiling. Still. How was she still smiling? Why was she still smiling? What was she waiting for?

Oh. Right. Tiepin.

Dazed, Byakuya held out his hand. Instantly, she returned it to its rightful owner, bowed, bade him a good day and left. Reading her own map. She’d procured herself. Without assistance. And she was using it. With a brain. Her own brain. Remarkable.

Like her eyes.

Those great big violet eyes.

_Remarkable_.

Despite himself, Byakuya felt the faintest upturn of the corner of his lip.

“KUCHIIIIKIIIIIIIIII!”

Annnnnd there it goes.

Good mood gone.

“KUCHIKI! HEY! KUCHIKI!” A particularly exuberant, spiky-haired young man came bounding across the green, “Heyyyyyyyyyyyy! Was that a girl? Were you talking to a girl? Was that a smile? Did we just witness the great Kuchiki smiling? Over a girl? I think we did!”

Ignore it.

“HEY! GUYS! SHINJI! GUESS WHAT! BYAKUYA’S GOT A GIRLFRIEND!” The miscreant beckoned to a lanky, blonde youth with a sharp, asymmetrical haircut and incredibly toothy grin.

Just.

“Kaien, the whole point of a guessing game is that you let us guess.”

Why.

“DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?!” he roared.

Am.

“BYAKUYA. HAS. A. GIRLFRIEND.” Each word was punctuated with a harsh, jabbing gesture.

I.

“A _GIRLFRIEND_.” Muguruma Kensei raised a pierced eyebrow at Kaien in blatant disbelief.

Still.

“A _CUTE_ GIRLFRIEND.” Aikawa Rabu looked around excitedly for the mystery girl, afro bobbing comically.

Here?

A few seconds of blissful silence passed before the group of five delinquents suddenly and simultaneously burst out laughing.

What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? Byakuya glared at them.

“What’s so funny? Hiyori! It’s true! I saw her.”

The short, spunky blonde rolled her eyes. “We get it. It’s the first of April. Good joke. Move on already.”

“HIYORI! I _SAW_ HER! SHE WAS _CUTE_.”

Did he have to be so loud?

The cretin had a point, though. She _was_ cute.

“Wait. What?” A bespectacled brunette pushed past Shinji. “Did you just smile?” Yadōmaru Lisa stared in shock at Byakuya.

And now it’s time to leave.

“SEE! I _TOLD_ YOU!”

Just as he was about to stride away, his path was blocked by a woman from the year below him.

“MY LOVE! MIYAKO!” The ludicrous dimwit, Kaien, swooped forward and spun her round, ecstatic. It was like he hadn’t seen his own wife in an age. Still, to one with the mental capacity of a goldfish, five minutes probably _was_ an age. “BYAKUYA HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”

Even _she_ turned to him in pleasant surprise. “Congratulations, Kuchiki-sama.” At least she had a sense of decorum. Byakuya nodded serenely in greeting, but declined to correct her, before sidestepping around her and making his way inside the university gates.

Their conspiratorial tones followed him.

“Who is she?”

“That girl. Over there.”

“Which one?” As if _she_ was difficult to spot among the masses of the great unwashed.

“ _That_ one!” Even Kaien was beginning to sound exasperated.

“The one with green hair and massive ti-?” Trust Shinji to be a total pervert.

“No, no, _no_. The one with the hat.”

“The knitted beret?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooohhhhh. She’s cute!”

“Hey, Hiyori, she’s nearly as short as yo- OW! What was that for?!”

Honestly, he was surrounded by idiots.

His coffee was going cold.

He hated Fresher’s Week.

But those eyes.

That smile.

_Remarkable_.


	3. Just in Case

It was another two weeks before Byakuya saw her again. She was huddled in the corner of a designated smoking area, rummaging through her bag. He couldn’t quite put a finger on the flash of emotion that ran through his core. Disappointment? Concern for her health? His eternal, undying love?

Whatever it was, the second she smiled as she found the thing that she was looking for, he was overcome with the desperate need for a cigarette. Taking a slight detour en route to his morning coffee, he returned to the quad only to find that she had already gone.

It was probably just as well. He hated the smell of those deadly little cancer sticks anyway.

Not that it stopped him from putting his brand new purchase in his inner breast pocket.

Just in case.

Three days later, she was back at the smoking shelter, pouring a steaming hot liquid from a thermos flask into its small accompanying cup. His breath caught as she moved her right leg over to cross her left knee. Her _perfectly respectable_ knee-length skirt had ridden up her thigh. Even more so as she twisted to pick up the book sat next to her left.

Against his better judgement, Byakuya’s feet carried him towards her.

He stood there awkwardly for nearly three minutes.

He desperately needed coffee.

He only had cigarettes.

Cigarettes.

He cleared his throat.

No response. She was too engrossed in whatever it was she was reading.

He tried again. Louder.

Nothing.

“Excuse me?” Did he just croak? Dear God, how old was he? Thirteen?

Frowning, she raised a single finger to say ‘just a moment, I’m concentrating’ as she finished the passage she was reading. Finally, she marked the page with an old receipt as she turned to face him. “Hmm? Oh, hey!” She pointed to his tiepin, “still got it, then?”

He looked at her blankly before staring quizzically at the book cover. He didn’t fully recognise the characters.

“Oh,” she gave a breathy laugh, “Yeah, sorry about that. _The Dream of the Red Chamber_. It’s in baihua; if I don’t focus properly, I lose where I am and have to start all over again. It’s alright the first couple of times you do it, but when you’re on the seventieth read-through…” her voice trailed off. “Anyway, enough about me, how can I help?”

He tried to get the words out, he really did, but all he managed was a strangled “Lighter?”

He could have died.

Especially when she looked at him like _that_. Suddenly, her face broke into a sunny smile, “Oh! Lighter. Umm… I don’t know. Maybe? Hang on.” She started pulling all manner of things out of her bag. A large, well-thumbed textbook on Ancient Greece; a swatch of fabrics; tissues; plasters; pens; keys; a squashed box of teabags; a very bruised, sorry-looking apple; a pile of old receipts and shopping lists; a sewing kit; screwdriver set…

“It’s fine.”

She looked up at him amidst the mess, embarrassed. “Sorry, I lose track of what I’ve got in here.” She scans the clutter sheepishly, “Seems like the sort of thing I might have, but apparently not.” She immediately started shoving stuff back into her bag. No rhyme, nor reason. No order. Completely haphazard.

For some reason, the part of Byakuya’s brain that would normally implode had switched off.

_‘She’s cute!_ ’

Kaien’s words echoed through his head.

Shit.

He was staring.

She was looking at him suspiciously.

She’d caught him.

Averting his gaze quickly, he briefly speculated that his shoes could do with a shine.

“Hang on, don’t _you_ have one?”

He was just about to clear his throat and give a very reasoned answer as to why he didn’t have a lighter on his person when, in the distance, a bell rang to inform college students that if they weren’t in their classrooms at this precise moment they were late, and for that he was very grateful because his brain couldn’t come up with a clearly coherent reply and this was utterly shameful, oh God, why didn’t he have coffee?

In his daze, he barely registered the tiny form leaving his side in a rush.

He did, however, know that he was refusing to look anywhere in the general direction of his gawking peers across the way.

Head held high, he strode to the library in the most determined manner he could muster.


	4. Disarray

Hisana was exhausted. Between one thing and another, she was getting so little sleep it hurt. She knew that she still had paint in her hair from the day before, and she knew that she looked a mess. She knew she was wearing odd socks that clashed horribly with her plimsolls, but she simply _didn’t care_.

While all her classmates were complaining about the workload, Hisana found herself coming to college for a rest. A breather. A chance to relax and put her feet up.

They weren’t a bad bunch. They were just so… _young_ (which was ridiculous considering that she was technically the youngest in the class). They found it odd that she didn’t know who was number one in the charts, nor what the latest must-see television programme was even called, never mind what it was about. They couldn’t understand why she wasn’t interested in hair and make up. Or clothes. Boys.

No.

That wasn’t right.

She was interested in all of those things, she just didn’t have _time_ for them. Or money. And she most certainly didn’t have the energy.

They didn’t know why she chose to walk the three miles to college every day instead of just using the bus. They couldn’t work out why she even came in on days she didn’t have classes. They didn’t get why she insisted on doing all of her coursework in the local library rather than taking it home.

Of course, _they_ weren’t the ones who tried to use nappy rash cream to clean their teeth this morning.

They also weren’t sat there, in the aforementioned library, stirring their cup of tea unthinkingly with a pen, staring into space, before dripping it over six hours’ worth of handwritten essay.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she muttered under her breath, chucking the pen down on the table with a crack, before it proceeded to ricochet across two chairs and finally land somewhere beneath the table currently occupied by a group of quietly gossiping law students.

She allowed her head to fall to the desk with a soft thud.

She heard someone return the pen; felt their sympathetic hand on her shoulder. She managed to raise her hand to give them a thumbs-up in thanks but otherwise she didn’t move. This was far too comfortable.

She heard their stifled giggles and vague snippets of hushed conversation.

She was distantly aware of other people coming and going.

She even fancied that someone uttered her name once or twice, but she didn’t care.

This was just far too… comfortable…

There was no knowing just how much time had passed, but that didn’t stop her lightning quick reactions to her ancient mobile phone buzzing from beneath the pile of tea-stained papers.

“Hello?” She would have laughed as the entire table next to her jumped as one. “How was it?” If only she didn’t have other things to worry about. Things such as-

“What?! What do you mea-? Where are you?” Hisana caught sight of the law students trying desperately trying to feign nonchalance as they listened in. She automatically switched the conversation to Nanjing dialect, her mother’s native tongue.

Before they could even look surprised, she’d grabbed her bag and bolted out of the library, work left in disarray on the table.


	5. Almost

Byakuya was in the middle of his one-to-one with his mentor, Ukitake Jūshirō, when his phone started flashing. First, it was that idiot, Shiba Kaien.

Ignore it.

They were discussing his previous internship at Sasakibe LPC & Associates, a high profile law firm specialising in financial and corporate practice, personal and corporate bankruptcy and debt restructuring.

Then it was Hirako Shinji.

Ignore. It.

The placement was… satisfying enough, he supposed. The director, Sasakibe Chōjirō, was impressed with his work ethic, his diligence, his dedication to the job, but he was also keen to stress that he felt that the young Kuchiki was better to suited to another role.

Shiba Kaien.

_Ignore_. _It_.

Ukitake was eager to point out that the director had even broached another firm about taking him on, that this wasn’t about Byakuya not being up to the task. He was. Truly. His work was excellent. Flawless. “But can you really see yourself doing this for the rest of your life, Kuchiki-san?”

Yadōmaru Lisa.

Really? He hid the device under some paperwork.

Byakuya had to concede that thought of highfalutin corporate law for the rest of his days made him feel just a little… flat.

Shiba Kaien.

Seriously? The vibration had moved the damn thing back into sight. He picked it up to turn it off, apologising to Ukitake.

Shiba Miyako.

Okay, _that_ one might be worth reading.

An almighty commotion started thundering down the corridor, and both he and Ukitake looked at each other. The phone. The door.

Lo and behold, approximately four seconds later, the door was nearly forced from its hinges as seven supposed young _adults_ hurtled through it, each wheezing something about an “emergency”, and “sorry, Professor” and “this is urgent” whilst their idiot ringleader brandished a pile of untidy papers and a large textbook. On Ancient Greece.

Biting his tongue, Byakuya opted for the safest option. Which was to stare impassively at the space just beyond his mentor’s head and wait for the problem to _go away_.

And maybe it would have done, if not for the abrupt appearance of a seething Shihōin Yoruichi. “What on EARTH do you lot think you are doing?” Slamming the door shut, she spun round to face the somewhat cowed group, hands on her hips. Byakuya sat back, arms crossed, with no small amount of pleasure. He was going to enjoy this. Secretly, of course.

“This is an _educational establishment_ , NOT a circus!” She glared at them, snarling, “Explain yourselves.”

Lisa spoke up first, “It’s Kuchiki-sama, Yoruichi-Sensei.”

For once, Byakuya was grateful for Yoruichi’s intervention as she quirked an eyebrow, “I know full well that Kuchiki has been in here for his supervision for the past forty minutes, I think yo-“

“His _girlfriend_ , actually.”

If looks could kill, Kaien would be a dead man. Flayed. Completely eviscerated.

“What?” Both Ukitake and Yoruichi turned to him with new curiosity.

Byakuya felt the twitch in his right eye. Why was the thought of him having a romantic interest so alien to everyone? Not that she was a romantic interest. Not in the slightest. More of an intrigue. An incredibly pretty intrigue.

“Yeah, she was having a breakdown in the library,” Kaien explained.

“So you all left her there? Alone?”

“What? No!”

“Her phone went-,” Miyako began to clarify.

“- Never seen someone move so quick-,” Lisa added unhelpfully.

“- Then she vanished!” Hirako Shinji was such a drama queen.

“Left all this stuff behind.” Kaien allowed his burden to crash to a table, as his wife gently placed a small bundle of brightly coloured fabric, an old thermos flask, and needle case to the side.

Yoruichi frowned. “Are you telling me, Shiba Kaien, that you missed this morning’s lecture because you were audience to a young woman in crisis? That you failed to intervene and seek help?”

“I couldn’t leave her! She was asleep! Anyone could have come along and taken advantage!”

She narrowed her eyes, “She was asleep but having a ‘breakdown’?”

“Well, she had the breakdown _first_ , and then fell asleep.”

“- And then the phone went-.”

“And she was, like, BAM! Awake!”

“And then she started talking funny-.”

“Mandarin.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.

“What?”

The whole room turned their attention to Byakuya.

Shit.

“Your girl’s Chinese?” Really, Kaien was taking far too much interest into this whole matter. They all were.

Byakuya pinched his nose in exasperation. “I would appreciate it if I could continue with my supervision.” He glowered at Kaien in a manner that clearly stated, ‘Get. Out.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Ukitake cleared his throat and nodded sagely, his long white hair strangely at odds with his youthful countenance. “Yes, I think that would be best. Thank you, Yoruichi-san for your assistance.”

She bowed tersely in response before shooing the bothersome party out of the door, alternating between chiding them and dishing for gossip.

The two men allowed a moment of calm to fall over them before continuing. It was almost as though they had never been interrupted.

Almost.


	6. Hazy

Byakuya awoke after a restless night to one of those hazy spring mornings where the world seemed just a little too quiet. He was still trying to process the day before. On one hand, he was open to the suggestion, on the other… he almost felt dejected. Demoted, even.

For twenty-one years, he’d been following in the footsteps of his father; his grandfather; his great-grandfather. Financial law was the family business. Corporate practice was in the blood. Bankruptcy, insolvency and debt restructuring was a matter of course. It was… It was…

Well, it just _was_.

When Ukitake told him yesterday that Yamamoto & Partners were interested in offering him a position; that he’d been highly recommended to them by Sasakibe, he’d been taken aback. He’d never considered anything other than the dog-eat-dog corporate world. He was prepared for the bloody battle to the top. He was primed for success. He was… confused.

Yamamoto & Partners was a small firm. Highly principled, but small. And whilst there was a certain glamour attached to their criminal law office, he couldn’t help but feel that it was vastly overshadowed by their focus on civil and family law. It just seemed so _common_.

Yamamoto was an old man with a hero complex. He had a habit of refusing high profile cases, preferring instead to take on those he deemed most worthy of his help. This came at a price, of course. Turning down rich pickings from wealthy clients in favour of helping defend the homeless drug addict wrongly accused of stealing from them meant that their offices left much to be desired; small, cramped, outdated décor… Stigmatised by professionals.

But the thought of winning a case like that?

That could get the blood pumping.

Of course, the _reality_ of winning a case like that was like trying to remove the eggs from a baked cake. Not going to happen.

But imagine if it did…

As for dealing with civil and family disputes, that was the downer. He knew he was being unfair, but could he really bring himself to care about the outcome of trivial spats between neighbours and petty bickering between divorcees?

The white noise of endless business jargon flickered through his mind.

Surely it was worth a try.

Wasn’t it?


	7. Butterflies, Black Cats, and Torment

Hisana was sat in her usual spot in an almost meditative stupor when Byakuya found her that Friday morning. _Hisana_. The name fluttered about his head like a particularly spectacular but elusive butterfly.

She looked tired, he noted, but there was nothing in her appearance to suggest she was on the verge of mental collapse. Sure, her shoes were worn, and her hair was doing its very best to escape her messy plait, and she was just about to spill her tea all over her lap…

“Saito-san?” He gingerly took the cup and placed it on the bench beside her.

Startled, a faint blush spread across her cheeks as she mumbled, “Thanks.”

Byakuya sat down next to her, legs outstretched and ankles crossed, sipping on his coffee. He was busy checking the latest news on his phone when he noticed her peering curiously at him through thick, long lashes. “It’s in my locker.”

She stared at him blankly.

“Your work,” he clarified, “It’s in my locker.”

She shot upright, horrified. “Kami. I’d forgotten about…”

“It’s fine. Whenever you’re free.”

“I don’t have lessons today.”

“You don’t- Why are you here then?”

“Oh, you know, enjoying the sights…”

Byakuya snorted.

“Hey, I’ll have you know that this is a very nice smoking shelter. A prime example of its kind.” She pointed to a clutch of errant sumire flowers breaking through the concrete, “See! It even has its own garden.”

Smiling, Byakuya shook his head as he stood and beckoned her to follow him. She tipped the remainder of her cold tea to the grass and deposited the paper cup in the bin before trotting to catch up with him.

“What about you? Don’t you have class?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I just need to hand some paperwork in.”

He glanced down at her struggling to keep up before slowing his pace. She was _tiny_. That was what? Three steps to his single stride?

Still, if he thought _he_ dwarfed her, it was nothing compared to how she felt when they turned the corner. He’d long forgotten just how impressive the Gotei Shin’ō Academy campus was, long forgotten to even notice it.

As they descended the winding steps, all two-hundred-and-twenty-six of them, her wide-eyed astonishment was positively childlike, and Byakuya couldn’t help but rue the fact Hanami had just passed. Still, the enormous ginkgo trees were arguably just as striking as the sakura and ume in full bloom, and the ponds glimmered and rippled with the movement of the carp. The building itself was a sprawling white structure, fronted by a towering tasōtō, crowned in ebony and scarlet. It was a thing of extraordinary beauty, remarkably well hidden behind its walls and Four Great Gates, the Shidaimon, to those who had no need to visit.

It was a completely different world to the place that Hisana had been _so proud_ to have been accepted with a full scholarship. An honour that became more and more meaningless with every step she took.

As they neared the entrance, she became increasingly self-conscious, clutching to the shoulder strap of her fraying bag nervously. Everyone was so well put-together, with their expensive tailoring and sleek lines, their gleaming shoes and glossy hair. She stuck out like a sore thumb. At least at Rukon College she could shrug off her appearance as the result of her quirky, artistic style wrapped in romanticised poverty and homemade eccentricity.

Even the passing conversations were on a completely different level: geopolitical tensions, stock markets, the latest businesses facing administration and insolvency.

“Good morning, Kuchiki-sama,” a vaguely familiar, gentle-looking young woman with a kind smile and tied-back hair approached the pair. Hisana swallowed cautiously as she realised that the woman had been amongst the group of students at the library the day prior. “You are looking better today, Saito-san.”

Hisana blushed and mumbled, “Yes, thank you…?” She gazed at the young woman questioningly.

“Miyako, Shiba Miyako.” She proffered a well-manicured hand that was soft and warm to the touch. Hisana suspected that it matched her personality perfectly.

“Thank you, Shiba-san. You are very kind.”

Miyako turned her attention to the man beside her and smiled wryly, “I trust Kuchiki-sama is looking after you?”

“Hai.” Byakuya was glad that Hisana had lowered her gaze to the ground, embarrassed, as it gave him ample opportunity to scowl darkly at Miyako. She was as bad as her pest of a husband, underneath that disguise of sweetness and light.

Hisana, meanwhile, was too busy trying to pin down where she knew the name “Kuchiki” from to notice their silent battle. It was in there somewhere, like she could see the book on the shelf in her mind, but it was just out of reach. The only thing she could vaguely recall went back years to the aftermath of her father’s near-fatal mining incident. Su… So…

“Wait. Do you know Kuchiki Sōjun?” Byakuya stared down at her, his eyes wide. Almost oblivious, she carried on. “Isn’t he from some noble family or-?” Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Kuchiki- _sama_. Well, fuck. She visibly shrank back into her cardigan as she giggled nervously. “I, uhm… I met him a few times. He was nice. He gave me chocolate. He was really… nice.” She finished lamely, desperately wishing for the ground to open up and save her from the awkwardness.

Miyako, on the other hand, seemed completely beguiled by her clumsy chatter. No airs and graces, no pretentiousness, no desperate need to impress. Suddenly she looped her arm through Hisana’s and began whisking her away from the milling crowds.

“I think we’ll go this way, Saito-san. It’s quieter.”

Byakuya was grateful for the coded message. ‘The others are that way. Let’s avoid them.’

He was also especially grateful for the chance to eye up a particularly lovely pair of very slender but shapely legs.

He was decidedly _not_ grateful when a smirking Miyako caught him, eyebrow raised knowingly.

“So, Hisana-san – may I call you Hisana-san?” Hisana nodded timidly, although Miyako barely waited for a response, “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Kuchiki-sama tells me that you’re Chinese.”

Hisana nearly tripped over her own foot in surprise.

“I… wha? My Mother is.” She turned to Byakuya warily, “How did you-?”

“No one reads _The Dream of the Red Chamber_ in its original baihua for fun unless they are familiar with colloquial Mandarin. This in turn would suggest a more intimate knowledge of the language rather than it being a secondary one.”

Byakuya didn’t miss a single beat and was so matter-of-a-fact, it seemed obvious. Even Hisana failed to find a flaw in that logic.

“Spoken like a true lawyer, Kuchiki-sama. Well done.” Miyako was pleased to note the faint flush gracing his haughty features. Kaien was right; he _was_ fun to tease. “How long did it take you to Google and rehearse that?”

Miyako couldn’t help but giggle as he swept past them with his head held high and a puffed-up nonchalance. Hisana faltered, unsure of how to proceed. “Oh, don’t mind him, Hisana-san. Sometimes he needs a gentle reminder that he’s not so different from the rest of us.”

It wasn’t long before they reached a side entrance, shaded by a couple of early-flowering rhododendrons covered with striking scarlet blooms. Hisana was so taken with them, she failed to realise that she was no longer linked with her new companion and stumbled straight into the back of Byakuya.

Blushing furiously, Hisana apologised sheepishly and Miyako could have sworn she saw the exact moment that the infamously cold and unaffected Kuchiki melted.

“If I may, Kuchiki-sama,” Miyako spoke softly, wary of interrupting, “Ukitake-Sensei will be with the first years from ten o’ clock. If you have need to see him, it may be best to do so before heading to the lockers.”

He merely nodded in recognition of her suggestion.

“Oh, and beware of Shihōin-Sensei. She’s in an especially catty mood this morning.” His jaw tensed with a flash of irritation. “Good day, Hisana-san. It was lovely meeting you.” She turned to leave just as someone called out to her.

“MIYAKO! My wonderful darling! My lovely little flower! My- Who’s that?”

Byakuya balked before practically shoving Hisana through the door and slamming it shut behind them.

Kaien gasped excitedly, “Was that Kuchiki’s girlfriend? Were you talking to Kuchiki’s girlfriend?!” His fingers twitched as he fought the temptation to chase after them, opting instead to peer through the glass as their retreating backs. Miyako chuckled quietly at him.

Facing his wife, he gestured impatiently. “Well? Dish the dirt. What’s she like? Is she single?”

“Why? Are you interested? You’re a married man, Shiba Kaien. Don’t let your wife hear you say that.”

“Pffft. Like she wouldn’t be down for it.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as she playfully tried to push him into the shrubbery.

“Come on! Tell me! What shampoo does she use? What’s her favourite colour? Ooh! Does she like dogs?” Miyako bit her lip and rolled her eyes when he started whining pitifully at her. “Miyaaaakooo. Give me _something_ to work with here. A man needs to know these things!”

She took a couple of moments, head cocked to the side in contemplation. “She knows his father.”

“Sōjun?! Really? How?”

She tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially before making to leave.

“Whaaat? What’s that supposed to mean?” He scratched his head, baffled. Suddenly his eyes widened and mouth dropped open as though scandalised. “Don’t tell me she’s knocking off the old man!”

“Wha-? No!” Miyako cuffed her husband round the ear.

“Eh? Who’s knocking off whose old man?” Hirako Shinji loomed in, seemingly from nowhere.

Miyako groaned and put her head in her hands.

“Kuchiki’s bit of stuf-“

“No, she is not,” Miyako huffed. “She’s a very sweet girl and I won’t have you talking about her like that.”

Cowed, Kaien mumbled, “Yes, Miss.”

Shinji sniggered behind Miyako’s back and was making a whipping motion at his friend until he realised he was being pointedly glared at. He blanched and raised his hands in submission.

The three fell silent as they ambled onwards.

“So, err… Just how _does_ she know Sōjun?” Kaien asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but he gave her chocolate.”

“He gave her-? What?! He’s never given _me_ chocolate!” Kaien exclaimed indignantly.

“Kuchiki Sōjun’s never given you _anything_ ,” Miyako said lightly. “You don’t deserve it.”

Kaien’s arms flew open, affronted. The pair continued bickering whilst Shinji wheezed with laughter, ignorant of the strange looks they were drawing from loitering students.

Gotei Shin’ō Academy was incredibly clean, Hisana thought to herself. Abnormally so. The floors shined and there didn’t seem to be a single speck of dust anywhere. No fingerprints on any of the picture frames or railings. No graffiti. No litter. No chewing gum. Just pristine hallways and highly polished adornments.

And it was so quiet. The occasional hushed murmur of chatter could be heard from behind closed doors, and a rather harried-looking girl’s heels echoed as she marched past them, but that was it. There was a distinct lack of the cacophony of musicians tuning up (or, as Hisana only last week discovered, playing their actual set- she’d thought twenty-odd minutes was a long time for a group of four to find the right pitch). No raucous laughter. No obnoxious banter. No teenagers being teenagers and pratting around.

It was unnerving.

They took a sharp left which found them in a comfortable waiting area with sprawling armchairs and a large, glowing aquarium. On the windowsill sat a delicate ikebana arrangement of four irises formed into an upright circle, their sharply pointed leaves giving the impression or perpetual movement.

Byakuya motioned to her to take a seat. “I won’t be a minute,” he muttered as he gave two short raps of his knuckle against the door, disappearing behind it when a friendly voice from within called out. A plaque with smart gold letters informed Hisana that the office belonged to one Ukitake Jūshirō.

Hisana took the time to study the aquarium, designed as an underwater Zen garden. She smiled as a dozen tiny tetras darted about as one, and a skulking Siamese fighting fish kept sentry at the top of the tank. A couple of spiral-shelled snails lazed about the bottom with a few miniature Cory catfish.

There was a slight movement in her periphery, and Hisana watched a black cat slink in through the barely open window, sliding past the ikebana display without disturbing it. Silently, it jumped up onto the top of the tank before staring at her unblinkingly.

She extended her hand slowly, as the cat flicked the end of its tail twice before hesitantly lowering its head to take a sniff. It wasn’t long before Hisana was sat cross-legged on one of the large, squishy armchairs, cat purring contentedly in her lap.

“I see you’ve met Shunshin.” Hisana jumped and the cat scarpered back out of the window so quickly it was as though it had never appeared in the first place. A dark-skinned woman with a rich damson hair colour crossed the room the slam the window shut, chuntering to herself “I keep telling him not to leave it open. She keeps trying to catch the damn fish.”

Hands on hips, she cast a critical eye over Hisana. “You’re not one of ours. Who are you?”

Hisana stuttered at her brusque tone, “Oh, I’m just… I’m from Rukon… I-“

“Yes, I can see that. Why are you here?” Although not unfriendly, the woman’s no-nonsense attitude made an already-out-of-place Hisana feel even more uncomfortable. “Well? This isn’t a crèche, unless you’re here for a reason, I suggest you leave.”

“Oh, I’m waiting for someone.” Hisana looked nervously to the door.

The woman pursed her lips as she eyed the youngster up and down. “Thinking of a career change?” Hisana looked at her, perplexed. “A word of advice: Don’t. You’re not cut out for it.” Hisana didn’t have time to feel insulted because at that moment the office door opened.

“Ahh, Jūshirō, are you-? Kuchiki? I didn’t know you were in tod-.” She stopped abruptly. Slowly, she rotated her head back to Hisana. A large and somewhat unsettling grin spread across her visage.

“So _you’re_ Saito Hisana.” The woman looked like the cat who’d caught the canary, whilst Byakuya looked nothing short of mortified. Hisana gulped, and the man she now knew as Ukitake Jūshirō eagerly poked his head round the door to witness the newcomer. “Oh, please, do sit down.” Unable to refuse, Hisana perched on the edge of the chair clutching nervously onto the bag upon her lap.

The purple-haired woman sprawled herself across the armchair next to Hisana, whilst Ukitake swooped in to the seat opposite. She was surrounded. And, short of diving through the window like the cat, there was no escape.

Kuchiki Byakuya seriously contemplated running off and leaving her there, but decided that whatever damage to his reputation was about to occur would not be nearly as bad as that which would result from such an unchivalrous act. He could only pray it would end quickly.

“So… Where are you from, Hisana-san?”

She wasn’t entirely sure why all of these people were so interested in her, but suspected it had more to do with the tall, dark, handsome stranger who had developed a terrible tic over his right eye than it did with her. Nevertheless, she found herself playing along. “Karakura, so not far.”

“Ahh, I know it well. You must have gone to the High School there.” A strange nostalgia fell over the woman’s face. “Do they still have the kendo and karate clubs?” Hisana nodded in reply. “You weren’t a member, were you?”

Hisana giggled and shook her head, “Oh no. I don’t think I’m made for that sort of thing.”

“It’s just as well. They were always shit in competitions. Even Byaku-bo managed to get a few hits in against that lot.” He glowered menacingly at the woman as she waved a thumb in his direction.

“How old are you Hisana-san? I’m Jūshirō, by the way. And this is Yoruichi.” The man smiled genially at her, and she warmed instantly to him.

“Sixteen, sir.”

He raised his in eyebrows in mild surprise whilst Yoruichi gave a low whistle. “Who knew Kuchiki was a cradle-snatcher?” Byakuya made an oddly strangled noise. “Oh. Are you still here? You can leave now.” She made a shooing gesture.

“I think-“

“HA! Makes a change.” Clearly this woman enjoyed tormenting her student.

“If it’s all the same to you, Shihōin-Sensei, I think Saito-san would like to collect her work now so that she can leave.” It seemed to Hisana it was taking all of Byakuya’s effort for him to not strangle his teacher.

Ukitake looked genuinely disappointed. “Are you sure you can’t stay, Hisana-san? I have tea and biscuits.”

Hisana shook her head gently and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Thank you, Ukitake-san, but I should probably go now. Things to do, and all that.” As she stood and righted her skirt, Yoruichi stopped her.

“You’re not _really_ dating him, are you?”

Hisana’s cheeks flooded with colour as she spluttered, “What? No! No, we’re just…”

“Friends. We’re friends,” Byakuya growled through gritted teeth.

“Not with benefits, I hope. I’ve seen him naked. Trust me, it’s really not that impressive.” Yoruichi cackled as he stormed off, dragging a bewildered Hisana behind him.

“OI! BYAKU-BO! TAKE THE POOR GIRL OUT FOR LUNCH. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE COULD DO WITH A GOOD DINNER!”

Waiting until his student was well out of earshot, Ukitake turned to his colleague and said, “Seems like a nice girl. I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Yoruichi smiled wistfully at him, “Yeah… Looks like there’s more of Sōjun in him than we thought.”

The pair paused for a few seconds before grinning at each other and simultaneously blurting out, “Baby photos.”


	8. Birdwatching

They’d arrived at the locker room door before it occurred to Byakuya that he was still grasping Hisana by the wrist. He suddenly let go as though scalded, and felt more than a little guilty as he realised that she was trying covertly to rub where he’d gripped just a little too hard. He stood there, mouth gaping (not unlike a fish), unable to get the words out when she smiled hesitantly at him.

He could only turn away. Tongue-tied.

It was pathetic, really. Hopeless.

Why did she have to stand there and look at him like that with those eyes and that face and that hair and be so… So… Gah.

Byakuya busied himself with getting her stuff from his locker. Much better to just get this over with and pretend nothing had ever happened. Draw a line under the whole situation. Forget _she_ ever existed.

“Has she really-?”

Byakuya froze.

“I mean- have you, umm-?”

He tensed and levelled his gaze at her. Hisana squirmed.

“It’s just- I just wondered- Are you..?”

He blinked.

He turned away again.

Hisana bit the inside of her cheek and looked to her feet before mumbling, “Forget it.”

“No.”

Hisana stared at him. Well, more accurately, she stared at his back. He seemed like he was pretty intent on inspecting every last iota of the contents of his locker. No? No what? No explanation? Or was that it? Was that the explanation? Not that it mattered, of course. What he did in his own time and who he did it with was entirely up to him. It was just that she thought that maybe…

Lost in her own thoughts, she barely noticed Byakuya holding out her thermos flask, fabric swatch and needle case. It was only when he cleared his throat expectantly that she realised he was looking at her with a strange expression.

“Oh. Thanks,” she fumbled as she took her things from him. His hands steadied hers. He has nice hands, she pondered. Strong. Warm. Clean. The kind that she’d like to draw. She should ask him. She needed to practise.

“Are you alright?”

She rapidly withdrew, nodding furiously and shoving her belongings into her bag.

“Are you sure? You’ve gone ever so pale.”

“It’s fine. I’m just tired.”

He could _see_ that. “Let me take you home.”

Her eyebrows raised sharply. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m fine. Really.”

Perhaps the suggestion _had_ been rather forward. And easily misconstrued. “Coffee, perhaps? I’m going to Kirio’s.”

That incredibly fancy pâtisserie that costs an absolute bomb? Was he _insane_? Byakuya had already started walking away before Hisana had a chance to respond. Apart from anything else, she had that distinct feeling that she was missing something.

Her books. Her _work_. Byakuya still had it. He was… gone.

Hisana dashed out of the locker room to chase him down.

“Hey!” Byakuya stopped and waited for Hisana to catch up. “Let me take those, they’re heavy.” He stared down at her incredulously. And promptly ignored her before continuing on his way.

“You don’t have to carry those, you know. I _can_ manage,” Hisana mumbled sulkily. She wasn’t used to being a spare part and having someone else do something for _her_. And she wasn’t quite sure how to take it. Was he mocking her or did he think he was being helpful? Or was he simply being nice? He seemed awfully grumpy for someone who was simply being nice.

She peered up at him, curious. Kuchiki-sama was a noble, alright. Sickeningly attractive with perfect posture. Haughty and self-assured. She focused on his hands again. They were so well-manicured. And soft. So unlike hers, which were dry and cracked; a worker’s hands, as her mother would say. Her books didn’t look nearly so large in his keeping either, with his long, sturdy fingers.

She wondered briefly if he played piano. He looked the sort. He probably wouldn’t reach the spans of Liszt or Rachmaninov, but he could certainly manage a 10th, maybe even an 11th, interval. Of course, that was the extent of her knowledge of the instrument, and she couldn’t tell you what an interval actually _is_ , but she’d heard a couple of music students boasting about it, so it must be impressive and undoubtedly within his repertoire. In fact, she’d be sorely disappointed if it wasn’t.

That being said, she bet he was totally rubbish at any useful or practical skill, and she highly doubted he’d ever done any _proper_ work in his life. Unlike her. Her brains were firmly in her hands, which was slightly problematic considering how many times she’d managed to stab herself with various needles and pins these past few weeks. Some classmates, she’d realised, were decidedly unfunny with their newfound entertainment of “let’s-startle-Hisana-while-she’s-concentrating”. She frowned as she ran her left thumb over a particularly deep gouge from a stitch picker. _That_ had hurt. Frankly, Shigeo Gitano was lucky she hadn’t shoved it up his nose in return, the git.

It was only when a cool breeze swept a stray lock of hair into her mouth and she tripped over the threshold coughing that Hisana remembered a) where she was, and b) who she was with. She blushed deeply as she heard him snort. “Oh, shut up.”

“I do hope you come with insurance,” Byakuya remarked slyly.

Hisana contemplated the pros and cons of punching him in the face, but ultimately concluded that assaulting a very rich, highly-trained lawyer was probably not in her best interests. She settled for shooting him a withering look. “I’m _tired_.”

“Which is precisely why we’re off to consume an ungodly amount of coffee-“

Hisana scrunched up her nose and grimaced, “I really don’t think that’s going to help.”

He gawked at her. “Not going to… It’s _coffee_. How can it not help?”

“Because it’s disgusting.”

Byakuya seemed to short-circuit for a moment, unable to comprehend what she was saying, before uttering disbelievingly, “You- You are not normal.”

“If by that you mean that I have taste buds, quite possibly.” Hisana tried to snatch her books back.

Byakuya considered this for a moment whilst holding them high out of her reach. “No. No, I’m fairly certain that you are abnormal. At the very least, your taste buds are abnormal.”

“If I wanted to drink mud, I’d go find a puddle.” She poked him in the ribs. Hard.

He couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that erupted. He hadn’t even properly introduced himself and she was adorable and ridiculous and they were insulting one another over _coffee_ of all things. It was all making him feel all light and airy and Shihōin had given him _ideas_ and they were making him stupid and silly and young and-.

Young.

She was rather young. Perhaps too young. Although from this angle, the look she was giving him was one of a world-weariness reserved for a person much older. It all made for a rather captivating package in the form of a very delicate and charming young lady. And then she attempted another jab, ruining the effect. He sidestepped her elbow and made to run off, books held aloft teasingly.

She threw her arms up in the air, exasperated, and the next words that fell out of Hisana’s mouth were categorically _un_ ladylike.

Somewhere in the distance a group of incredibly bemused individuals were trying to make sense of what they were seeing. A stunned Lisa had just relinquished her beloved pair of binoculars to Hiyori.

“Remind me, Lisa, just _why_ do you happen to have a pair of binoculars in your bag?”

She patted Kensei’s head condescendingly before he swatted her hand away, “Birdwatching, darling, birdwatching.” He scoffed.

“Actually,” Shinji dropped down from his vantage point in the tree, “I’d quite like to know why you’ve got them, as well.” He slung his arm around Lisa’s shoulders. “You can tell _me_ , you know. I won’t confiscate them.”

She smirked at him, “I told you. _Birdwatching_.”

“Pffft. My eye,” he grumbled before making quote marks in the air, “‘Birdwatching’. Tsch.”

Lisa then went on tippy toes and whispered in his ear, “I didn’t say what _kind_ of birds.”

“Eh?” Shinji’s face suddenly lit up as the penny dropped, “Oh, do tell me more about this utterly fascinating hobby. I may have to join you in observing some fine specimens.” He suddenly snatched said binoculars away from Hiyori, before dragging Lisa off, the pair murmuring conspiratorially.

“There is something wrong with those two,” Hiyori stated bluntly.

“Which two?” Kensei huffed.

From behind the pages of a somewhat raunchy looking manga (no doubt stolen from Lisa’s extensive stash), Aiwaka Rabu helpfully suggested, “Take your pick.”

“Oi, Shiba. Don’t tell me you called us in just to spy on Kuchiki being a prick.” Kensei was missing out on precious gym time and was hungry and had so many more important things to be doing than watching some posh nonce fail miserably at his love life.

“Oh, stop grousing. This is important,” Kaien was staring at his growing list of notes, before declaring, “We need a plan of action! And a title! I’d go with ‘Operation: Get Kuchiki Laid’, but I’m not sure even _he_ has enough money to find a woman _that_ desperate.”

Hiyori looked at him dubiously, arms crossed. “I dunno, Kaien. Miyako married you. Where is she, anyway?”

Kaien pointed at her threateningly, “Watch it, Blondie. I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to insinuate. And she’s got child psych this morning.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We still need a plan. Any suggestions?”

“Kidnapping?”

“Hmm, that’s a possi-. Kidnapping? What are you - ? Love! Gimme that!” Kaien snatched the manga out of his hands. He was momentarily distracted by the books contents, his eyes widening and face turning red. He turned it round as though a change of angle might help. “Blimey, Aikawa. Have you seen this? Is that even physically possible?” He flicked through the pages.

Kensei had had enough. “That’s it. I’m off.” The others chorused their goodbyes, Kaien barely noticing his rapidly diminished ‘troops’.

“Why are you even bothered about this? It’s not like he’s ever done anything for you…”

“Precisely, Hiyori! He’s a shitty friend, and an even shittier human being. And that girl, whoever she is, has magic witch powers. It’s for the good of humanity.”

Neither Love nor Hiyori were convinced. “So, he’s a ‘shitty friend and an even shittier human being’ but you’re going to subject some poor, innocent girl to him?”

Kaien made a sort of keening sound, “Nnyyhhnn… There may be some kinks that need sorting out, but the point remains the same: _she_ is some mystical creature that makes him _smile_. We need to get them together before she finds out what an arsehole he is, and before _he_ returns to normal.”

Both Love and Hiyori glanced at each other before simultaneously shaking their heads. “Nope. No. No, no, no. And furthermore, _no_. You are on your own.” Hiyori had started walking away before Kaien could try and change her mind.

“Whaaaat? Oh come on, guys! The world needs you,” Kaien implored desperately.

Love heaved himself from the ground, “Look, mate. When this plan all goes to shit, and they realise that they hate each other, and that there was some plot to bring them together, I do _not_ want to be around for that fallout, much less as a target.” He pulled his book from Kaien’s grasp. “Sorry, dude.” He quickly caught up with Hiyori, leaving Kaien behind looking lost.

“Wait! Love! OI!” He scrambled after the two. “Aikawa! Have you got any more of that manga?” Because, Kaien reasoned to himself, even rubbish friends had their uses.


	9. The Frogs

It had rapidly become quite clear to Byakuya that Hisana was one of those people whose mind simply never stopped. Once she had finally conceded that she could probably do with a pick-me-up, he watched her go through multiple moods and expressions in the space of a few minutes, ranging from comical dismay of realising that she had to walk back up every single one of those two-hundred-and-twenty-six steps again (he wasn’t sure that she’d ever forgive him for that), to joy at watching a couple of evidently nesting pygmy woodpeckers bobbing about, collecting materials from the fluffy grasses about the koi ponds. He nearly lost her before he realised that she was still halfway down the steps rootling through her bag for a pen to scribble something on the back of her hand, apparently completely unaware that she suddenly stopped in the way of irritated passersby.

She was scatterbrained and constantly distracted, and Byakuya couldn’t help but feel that it was like the mundane simply didn’t exist for her, that she was somehow ethereal and otherworldly. He was being utterly fanciful, of course, but she was so fey-like in appearance it was hard to think of her in any other way.

In other words, Saito Hisana was a _problem_.

So much of her seemed to go against everything he stood for. She was disorganised; messy, even. An art student; an utterly illogical and pointless study if ever there was one (his own dismal failings in the subject in _no way_ affected his opinion on the matter). A brief perusal of her tea-stained work had shown she was sensitive and unnecessarily emotional; she sought hidden meanings in things that were clearly just the result of someone lobbing an open tin of paint in the general direction of some unfortunate canvas simply because they could. She cared about people and their inner workings (which is utterly stupid, because people are stupid and do stupid things for stupid reasons). His world was made entirely of fact and rationality, and hers of passion and fantastical expression.

And he was buying every single little bit of it.

“You should try going to bed earlier.”

She stared at him incredulously from across the table. He could see the myriad of retorts flashing behind her eyes before she sighed heavily, “Yeah, probably.”

There was a split second when she looked completely defeated, before that beautiful smile returned in full force. The moment was so brief that Byakuya almost began to believe that he had imagined it.

“It’s entirely Kyōraku-Sensei’s fault. I was up until half-past two this morning trying to fix a prototype frog for the drama department.” She began picking at her nails. “Anyway, his back leg keeps getting stuck up by his ear and it’s annoying me. The frog, not Kyōraku.” She muttered, more to herself than her companion, “Knew I should’ve chosen mechanical engineering.”

“That… What?” Whatever it was, it was _not_ what he had been expecting her to say.

“I should’ve chosen to study mechanical engineering.” Unfortunately, Byakuya chose that moment to take a sip of his coffee. “Instead I am defeated by a frog whose nuts are too big.”

Hisana’s eyes were wide with an assumed innocence and just a glimmer of mischief as she passed a wad of serviettes to him as he spluttered. Despite her initial misgivings, she was actually enjoying herself. It made a nice change of pace, just whiling away the time in quiet conversation with no real purpose. She tried not to think about the seemingly endless to-do list that hovered constantly in her periphery.

By the time Byakuya had regained his composure, Hisana’s expression had turned wistful, her chin resting on her hand as she gazed at nothing in particular.

“Ohh, this was a bad idea,” Hisana suddenly slumped back in her seat. Catching Byakuya’s aghast look, she quickly explained, “Sitting down, I mean. I won’t want to get up. Ever. This is it. This is where I die. Make sure they put something nice on my plaque.”

Byakuya pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in stupefied amusement. “You are ridiculous.”

“Meh, I’ll take it.” She gestured to an imaginary commemoration on the wall beside her and declared dramatically, “Here sat Hisana. She died. She was ridiculous.” She grinned as he snorted at her, “Hey, don’t worry. I only get worse.”

Byakuya’s brows furrowed slightly as he puzzled over what she had said. “May I ask why you are doing work for the drama department?”

“Hmm? Oh, they wanted volunteers to help out and of course muggins over here said yes.” She ran her finger around the rim of her teacup. “When they said classical, I was thinking Kabuki theatre, or maybe even Shakespeare. Turned out they’re doing The Frogs.” Byakuya looked at her blankly. “You know, _Aristophanes_.”

“Ah, yes,” he nodded sagely.

Hisana’s face lit up with pleasant surprise, “You know it?”

He gave a single, terse nod. Kuchiki Byakuya was not going to let her know that he didn’t have the faintest clue what she was going on about.

“Well, I’m glad _you_ do, because I bloody didn’t,” she grumbled. “I mean, it _could_ be brilliant, but they keep arguing over what it is they want us to do. Three weeks ago, we had twelve volunteers to help with set design and costumes, and now there are four of us. Four! I’d just finished the sketches for the Dionysus costume last week, and now Charlotte is complaining that it’s not leopard print. Heracles didn’t slay a leopard, it was the Nemean _Lion_! Any idiot could tell you that, but _noooo_ , that’s not ‘fabulous’ enough. For goodness sake, it’s a _golden lion pelt_ , complete with head and mane, and you’re going to start moaning that it’s not ‘fabulous’ enough? Like, I don’t _care_ what makes you look the most beautiful, I’m going for historical accuracy here!”

The problem, Byakuya decided, with Saito Hisana was not so much what she said or did, but it was the way she looked when she was doing it. He _knew_ she was saying actual words, but he was too busy looking at her dusky pink lips to recognise the sounds that were tumbling from them. And the more animated she became, the more her eyes gleamed and the more a rosy flush bloomed across her cheeks.

Shit.

She’d stopped talking.

When did she stop talking?

He cleared his throat in a feeble attempt of masking his error. “You could always quit.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

“Quit?!” She looked appalled. “Saito Hisana does not quit! She stays up until stupid o’ clock fiddling with nuts and bolts and jammed levers and broken springs to fix a frog that no one will ever see for a scene that lasts all of thirty seconds!” She punctuated every beat with a sharp jabbing motion upon the table top.

Her ardent rant only came to an abrupt end when a low buzzing began emitting from her bag under her seat. The same defeated look which had momentarily crossed her face earlier had returned. If not defeated, then certainly world-weary.

 _Tired_.

She began worrying at her bottom lip with the index finger and thumb of her right hand.

The slow exhale as she considered ignoring it.

The pregnant pause when it ended.

The fall of her head to her chest as the relief swept over her.

The soft groan when it started again.

Hisana’s fists clenched as she offered Byakuya a small smile. More of a grimace really, with her shoulders hunched up. She leant down to try and shove her back further under the seat in the hope of drowning out the noise.

It stopped again.

Her face scrunched up as it started again seconds later.

“Excuse me,” she whispered apologetically as she dragged herself from her seat, bag in hand.

Byakuya watched as Hisana wandered out onto the street and lingered by the window as she answered the call. He watched her face contort from concern to horror. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw several people turn their heads at her raised voice.

This time, her visage didn’t glow with enthusiasm. Rather, she seemed to wither and fade.

It occurred to Byakuya that this was a side to her that she probably didn’t want him to see, and so he finished his now tepid coffee, gestured for the bill and waited for her return whilst deliberately averting his gaze.

A couple of minutes later she was back at his side, trying to force some crumpled notes into his hand. The cost of a pot of oolong.

“Please, just take it.” He simply stayed her wrist and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, it’s just… it’s-.”

“Fine. It’s _fine_.” His voice was soft and low and somehow comforting. Hisana suddenly didn’t know where to look, his eyes were too piercing and his hands too close. It made her want to fall into his embrace and succumb to the tears. Or maybe it was something else. The part of her that she refused to acknowledge. She had too much to do.

She swallowed a sigh, and smiled wanly. “This has been nice. Thank you.” She meant it.

She hastily collected the rest of her stuff and he watched as she slipped away silently.

Maybe next time she would stay, even if just for a few moments more, and all those things he couldn’t say would no longer burn so hotly on his tongue.

Maybe.


	10. Fix

It was a wonder the door stayed on its hinges, Hisana flung the thing open so hard when she finally got home. Barely managing to kick her shoes off after she crossed the threshold, she raced towards the kitchen, dumping her stuff on her Dad’s favourite lumpy armchair on the way.

Tripping over a pile of soggy bedlinen, Hisana found her mother perched precariously on the kitchen counter, cigarette in one hand and baby in the other. She was in her favourite silk negligée and matching knee length dressing gown, both hanging dangerously low off her left shoulder. The set was so old and worn that the deep plum material was practically see-through. Her hair was perfectly coiffured in an elegant chignon, and her face perfectly made-up. Her deep red lipstick had left stains on both her cigarette filter, and the infant’s face as she cooed softly over her. Su-Mei was the epitome of femme-fatale.

“Don’t – don’t do that!” An exasperated Hisana splashed across the kitchenette and took the baby from her mother’s careless hold. Su-Mei, in turn, appraised her elder daughter with a bored and haughty gaze. “If you’re going to smoke, go outside! Don’t do it in Rukia’s face!”

Hisana was prevented from saying anything further by a gruff looking man in his mid to late forties clearing his throat awkwardly from under the kitchen sink. Shirogane Ginjirō, their landlord. He was a nice man; kind and generous and especially sympathetic to Hisana’s cause. Perhaps too much so. This would be the fourth time he’d attended to one of her mother’s emergencies in half as many months. Emergencies that were entirely of her own doing.

He hadn’t charged them a single yen.

Any other landlord would have evicted them months ago.

“I’ll have to get a new pipe, but it shouldn’t be too much trouble to fix. I can come back this evening and do it. Just… don’t use the sink.” As soon as Ginjirō began addressing Hisana, Su-Mei flounced out to their balcony, no longer interested in the situation at hand. Hisana rolled her eyes at her mother as Ginjirō chose his next words carefully. “Did she say what happened?”

Hisana shrugged as she playfully fluttered her fingers at her baby sister’s nose, who promptly began giggling as her pudgy little hands began reaching for an errant tress of hair. “I don’t know… Something about there being a noise coming from the taps. Probably thinks it’s Dad trying to talk to her.” Hisana looked at the sodden mess in the kitchen. “I see she didn’t use her own bedding to attempt to soak it up,” she groused.

Ginjirō wiped his hands on his jeans as he peered over at Rukia. He chortled quietly as she babbled away, hitting Hisana in the mouth as she tried to catch her hair. “How’s college?”

“College is great, actually. Busy, but I’m enjoying it.”

He frowned, “Hmm. Well, just don’t try and do too much. You’re too young to take this all on yourself.” He placed a consoling hand on her upper arm, “Just give us a ring when you need us. We don’t mind looking after Little Miss if it gives you a break. I’m sure Mihane would enjoy the company.” Hisana smiled as she recalled his daughter, just a few months older than her sister, but twice as fussy. Mihane hated being left alone, so unlike Rukia. Still, Hisana thought guiltily to herself, who could blame her when she had a mother who was… _erratic_ at best?

Su-Mei hadn’t always been like this. Far from it. She was the one that held the family together, working long hours, day and night, to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. She’d paid all the bills, she was the queen of order and organisation. She was in control. She was _fierce_. Strong.

And then, one summer’s evening, Saito Daichi up and left and never came home.

She was never the same.

Three weeks later she discovered that she was pregnant, and to her it was a curse. All through the pregnancy she was in complete denial of everything. Her husband’s death. The debts. Her unborn child. Somewhere along the way, she’d managed to convince herself that Daichi had left _because_ of the baby. That the man she’d given everything up for had abandoned her the way her own family had upon the discovery of her first pregnancy.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes Hisana could see her Mum shining through the darkness, but those days were becoming increasingly rare. Maybe once the anniversary had passed…

“Thank you, Shirogane-san, but I’m alright. Really.” _He_ might be alright with extending a helping hand, but Hisana strongly suspected his wife wouldn’t be quite so comfortable with such an arrangement. Her mother wasn’t exactly _subtle_ in her attempts at seduction. And who would be a better target than a loyal, steadfast husband? Warped and twisted though it was, you couldn’t fault her logic. “I’m sorry for… _this_ ,” she grimaced.

He waved away her concerns, “Gah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Gives me something to do on a Friday afternoon, doesn’t it? Anyway, I’ll see you later. Did you want me to bring some towels?”

Hisana scoffed, “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ve got another duvet somewhere. Maybe I’ll use the contents of my wardrobe. Maybe some odd socks. Who knows?”

Ginjirō laughed as he ruffled her hair and bade her goodbye.

Looking through the lounge and out onto the balcony beyond, Hisana could see her mother artfully sprawled across a chair, looking every inch the star of a film noir. She felt at once envious and hurt and betrayed and angry and frustrated and _worried_. Her mother was losing all grip on reality and it was painful.

So Hisana did what she did best. She heaved a sigh and swallowed and supressed everything that was choking her. She turned her beaming, joyful attention to her sister, showering her squealing, gurgling face in kisses before settling her down with her favourite teething blanket and cuddly toy lion.

Hisana couldn’t fix her mother, but she _could_ fix the mess in the kitchen.

And so that’s what she did.


	11. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three words: Teenage. Emo. Byakuya.
> 
> You're welcome.

It was mid-afternoon when Byakuya strolled in with his jacket slung over his shoulder, looking for all the world like a cross between a bored supermodel and a tortured poet. Ginrei quirked an eyebrow as he watched his grandson pass by the engawa and towards the dojo.

He was always such a difficult boy. His heading towards the dojo meant one of two things: he was either hell-bent on destruction and on the warpath over some perceived slight, or he was moping.

Ginrei hoped it wasn’t the moping. He was unbearable when he was moping.

He’d moped for days when Sōjun had relocated to New York for work. He’d refused to eat his vegetables, refused to be consoled on principle, and spent the week in a sulky silence. He was twelve and _old enough to know better_.

He’d moped for weeks when Ueno Miyako had snubbed him for Shiba Kaien. It wasn’t even that he had any romantic designs on the girl, she just happened to say yes when his rival asked her out. Kami help the poor soul he actually does develop feelings for.

He’d moped for _months_ when he failed art. It led to _The Phase_. The Phase in which his face was smothered in black eyeliner and hidden by hair; of loud, whining noise he called ‘music’ long into the night; of terrible verse and dramatic heartfelt declarations like _“No one understands me, nor my pain”_. It was still a sore subject for him years later. The calligraphy still hangs on his bedroom wall.

Oh well, Ginrei thought as he sipped at his matcha, as long as he didn’t go searching for the undesirables down at the Karakura kendo club to take his frustrations out on. It was amazing just how costly the repairs were for such a dive. Still, the damage _was_ rather extensive. And spread across multiple rooms. And spilled out into the street. He never did find out what triggered the rampage. In fact, he wasn’t even sure whether or not Byakuya had won. It was probably just as well.

He shook his head. Oh, to be young and rash and hot-headed again. To have the energy.

These days, he was wont to more sedate pastimes. The koi; his bonsai; fine saké; absolutely annihilating his opponents in shogi and mahjong. Old habits die hard, and even old men have their vices. They just happened to have honed them into being _socially acceptable_.

He surveyed the garden before him. Winding walkways of white gravel through carefully manicured azaleas and camellias leading to the bridge over the koi ponds before disappearing amidst a sea of various Prunus trees. The rhythmic trickling of water punctuated occasionally by the slow beat of its bamboo shishi-odoshi. He couldn’t see from his seated position on the engawa, but he knew that beyond the cherries and the plums and the apricots and the almonds lay hidden twists and turns, secret corners of beauty and serenity, all in perfect harmony. The landscapers had done a truly wonderful job.

One day this would all be Byakuya’s. Maybe he would sit here despairing over errant grandchildren. Maybe the gardens would be reshaped and changed beyond all recognition. Whatever he did with it, Ginrei could rest knowing that, despite his flaws, he had a grandson he could be proud of.

But there was life in this old dog yet.

Besides, he still had unfinished business with Yamamoto and his Go set.


	12. Hollow

It was odd. Her Mum had never smoked before, at least, not that she knew of. It was only in the weeks after Dad had gone that she’d found an old, half-empty pack of Mevius’ in a coat pocket. Hisana assumed she missed the smell.

At first, she’d tried to hide it. Especially as morning sickness took its hold, and her tiny frame began to show changes. There would only occasionally be a hint of tobacco emanating from the balcony.

By the end of her second trimester, however, she was sick of the pregnancy and sick of caring. If they were in public and she caught someone looking disapprovingly at her, she’d taunt them with her stare and an exaggerated show of exhaling the smoke whilst rubbing her bump, daring them to say something.

Hisana lost count of how many times she’d walked off leaving her mother making a spectacle of herself. It was embarrassing. She lost count of the times she’d told her to stop the nonsense, that it was hurting the baby. She lost count of the arguments.

Even worse were the times that her Mum resurfaced and remembered what she had done. When she would crumble before her, crushed by her grief and her shame.

Hisana could cope with the other woman, the one she called ‘mother’; the woman who was difficult and demanding and destructive. She could get annoyed and angry with _her_. She could _ignore_ her. But her Mum? That broken, empty shell of her best friend? That was another story.

Hisana swore that if there was an afterlife she would hunt down her father and throttle him and then some for being such a selfish bastard.

It was her Mum who sat next to her now, pale and nervous and clutching her right hand so tightly her entire arm was beginning to hurt. At least she’d managed to rearrange the doctor’s appointment that her mother was supposed to have attended last week. The last thing her Mum needed right now was to miss a dose of paliperidone.

She’d had her reservations about Dr Iemura to begin with; a vainglorious man with highly styled, slicked back blonde hair and a determination to not wear the glasses he clearly so desperately needed. He’d seemed more far more concerned about his own appearance and likeability than necessary, especially for a health professional. But over time Hisana realised he was sharing daft and tenuously related anecdotes at times when her Mum felt under too much pressure, when the process was too invasive. Forty-five minutes was a long time to be questioned and assessed and scrutinised for anybody, never mind someone suffering from bipolar disorder and postpartum psychosis.

Dr Iemura was particularly sensitive to their financial situation, too. Psychiatric services were not covered by health insurance and in order to help keep costs down, he would check over Rukia’s development during these appointments (thus removing their need to pay the ten per cent contribution charge).

Today was different. Today, after giving her Mum the injection, he turned his attention to Hisana. It took her by surprise.

“Me? I’m fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She tried to laugh away the question, but it sounded hollow, even to her ears.

Her Mum began to fuss over her, her bony fingers combing through her hair, muttering in Mandarin, “Are you not well, Hisana?”

“I’m fine, Mum,” she placated. Turning back to Dr Iemura, she continued in Japanese, “I’m just tired, I guess. Rukia was grizzly last night; weather’s just a bit too warm for her.” It wasn’t _un_ true; Rukia always got grumpy when she was hot.

He stared at her intently over the top of his glasses. “I want to do a couple of checks, if that’s okay? If I could just get you to move to this seat here.” He indicated the chair closest to his desk, before searching his desk drawers for various instruments.

After extricating herself from her Mum’s grip and sidestepping the pram she’d been gently rocking, Hisana hesitantly sat where Dr Iemura had pointed. He got her to rest her left forearm on the desk as he wrapped a dark blue cuff around her upper arm, and deftly placed a small rectangular machine on her right index finger. “This might be a little uncomfortable, just let me know if it’s too much.”

Before she had a chance to respond, the cuff had started to inflate and he was checking her temperature with an ear thermometer. “Hmm…”

Did he have to do that? Making ominous noises was not helping her feel any better about this. And the cuff was welcome to stop inflating any time soon. Preferably _before_ it completely crushed her humerus and her arm dropped off.

“You ever been tested for anaemia?”

Hisana shook her head.

He pulled the device off of her index finger mumbling, “Eighty-nine… That’s not-,” he stopped short when he realised he was thinking aloud and quickly tried to correct his error, “That’s… eighty-nine. Ahem.”

Thankfully, the cuff had finally decided it had done enough and was rapidly deflating, finishing a few seconds later with a loud beep. Dr Iemura, meanwhile, was wheeling a set of scales to the middle of the room.

Hisana inwardly winced. She _knew_ she was skinny. She _knew_ she was underweight. She _didn’t_ need to know how much by. Her Mum was skinny, too, but she was also an athlete; a professional figure skater in her younger days. A _good_ one. Even now she was all lithe muscle, trained and toned to perfection.

Dr Iemura was very efficient, the way he kept springing medical instruments seemingly from nowhere and taking the readings before seamlessly moving onto the next. He was incredibly tight-lipped and stony-faced as he recorded her weight, but it was the peak flow test that caused him to audibly start tutting at her.

“And again, please.”

This time, as she blew into the device, a spell of dizziness crashed over her, leading to the sensation of a tight band around her chest and a wheezing cough.

“Oh, this is _terrible_.” If Dr Iemura’s brows furrowed any further his face was going to collapse into itself, Hisana thought. “Sit down.” He was opening the door, before he turned back wagging his finger, almost as an afterthought, “Wait there.”

He returned a couple of minutes later with a younger colleague in tow, a very attractive dark haired male nurse, with deep brown eyes and a soft smile. Hisana nearly burst out laughing as she saw her Mum suddenly brighten, sitting up straight and eyeing him coquettishly. Although the nurse was oblivious to her attentions, the change did not go unnoticed by Dr Iemura, much to his chagrin. As luck would have it, Hisana managed to successfully both distract him and mask her giggles with a cough.

Unfortunately, the coughing fit was genuine and the tight band around her chest had returned with a vengeance. The accompanying dizziness nearly resulted in her falling off the chair.

“I think it’s time to get you admitted, Saito-san,” the nurse said.

“Wha-?” Hisana bolted upright in alarm just as her breath escaped her and the blinding spots on the edge of her vision took centre stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to be clear the words "Oh, this is terrible" are not the words a patient wants to hear from their doctor. Ever. Like, Dude*, I'm just doing what you told me to do.
> 
> *He was not a Dude. He was a crotchety old grump who was unimpressed that his treatment did not work.


	13. Fine

Hisana was bored. She was also now officially a pin cushion.

The constant beeping was giving her a headache. The lights were giving her a headache. The woman across the way who was having a conversation so loud the phone she was using was entirely unnecessary was _giving her a headache_.

She wanted to go home.

Still, it could be worse.

She could be dead.

Good job she was wearing matching underwear.

Funny how something she’d believed she grown out of years ago could suddenly rear its ugly head, and not only that, but come back considerably worse than ever.

Asthma.

Of all the things that could possibly happen and with the worst possible timing known to man.

Frigging asthma.

_Severe_ frigging asthma. Or frigging severe asthma?

She didn’t know. Didn’t particularly care. She was bored. She was uncomfortable. She was _tired_.

Being deprived of oxygen does that to you. It had been building for days, apparently. How could she have not noticed? The slight blue tinge to her nails she’d put down to being cold. The stitch in her side, slight breathlessness and rapid pulse when walking just a little bit quicker than normal was just her being tragically unfit. The coughing in the mornings and the evenings? Allergies. The lethargy, the dizzy spells, and her pallor? She was just plain knackered.

Who wouldn’t be, in her situation? Here she was, sixteen years of age, caring for her mother and a baby whilst trying to navigate a college education and a weekend job. The role of carer was nothing new; she’d been acting as a carer for her Dad for years whilst her Mum was off being overworked and underpaid. The role was nothing new, but the level of responsibility entrusted to her was so much more now. The cost of failing was so much higher.

It didn’t help that she regularly volunteered to take on extra work simply because she needed the distraction. If she wasn’t doing, she was _thinking_ , and if she was thinking it was about all the things that she had done wrong or hadn’t done at all, the whys and what ifs. It made her feel helpless and hopeless and…

The pork she’d got out of the freezer that morning to defrost was going to be ruined.

The bands from the nebuliser mask were really starting to annoy her, too.

Being admitted to hospital was a lot less glamourous than film and television would have you believe.

At least her Mum and Rukia had also been admitted to the Psychiatric Mother and Baby Unit, so she didn’t have to worry about _that_ fallout. She didn’t know what strings Dr Iemura had pulled to manage that, but she was immensely grateful. Until they received the bill, at any rate.

It didn’t sound like it would just be the one night, either. Dr Ushōda had smiled at her consolingly when she’d asked how long the treatment would take. He smiled, but wouldn’t give an answer. Turns out that years of poorly controlled asthma can cause a lot of damage, and this episode was going to take more than the usual couple of puffs of a salbutamol inhaler to rectify.

They were running a multitude of tests, just to rule out any other underlying conditions exacerbating the problem, but Dr Ushōda was fairly certain that the primary trigger was stress (although the familial history of respiratory problems on her Dad’s side may not have simply been the result of working in the coalmines).

She hoped her Mum was alright. Rather, she hoped the male nurse that had helped Dr Iemura was alright. Ogidō Harunobu was his name apparently, and, from what she could tell, he was rather popular with the ladies. Not that _he_ realised. Poor man. Her Mum would eat him alive given half the chance. He was very much _her type_.

Hisana was half expecting to wake up in the morning to find out that her Mum had been arrested for bad behaviour.

Or maybe _she_ would be the one detained, driven to extreme and scandalous measures by boredom and ennui. She snorted. Yeah, right. Aside from the occasional mismatched pair of socks, she couldn’t think of a single time in her life when she had broken even the smallest of rules.

Wait.

That wasn’t true.

Just the other day she’d allowed a strange man to buy her a drink. Probably not _quite_ what her Mum had in mind when she told her “Never accept drinks from strange men; you’ll end up pregnant and married to them within the month”, but she’d take it.

Perhaps she should compile a bucket list of rules to break. Maybe, when she worked her next shift, she could unlock the doors in a _different order_. Mix it up a bit. Oooh, or she could clean the floors from back to front. That would mess with Tessai-san just enough to be entertaining, but not enough to actually get into trouble. Mustn’t do anything _too_ drastic, now. At least, not to begin with. Start off small, and by the end of the week she’d be eating sweets for breakfast.

Imagine! Sweets for _breakfast_!

Speaking of breakfast, she hadn’t had any and now she was starting to get a bit peckish. And by peckish she meant ready to eat the back end off of a scabby donkey.

She’d been looking forward to _mei cai ko rou_ , a Hakka dish of steamed pork belly, for dinner. It wasn’t often they had meat, but she always made a point of making her Mum’s favourite dishes when she’d been in for treatment.

Oh well. At least she wouldn’t have to do the washing up.

That didn’t stop her feeling sulky. Nor wishing that she could throw something at the woman across the way.

She was tired. She was bored. She was hungry.

And now she was grumpy.

Would she say anything? Of course she wouldn’t. Because she was Saito Hisana, and Saito Hisana didn’t do things like that. She just bottled it all up and stashed it away in the recesses of her mind. That in itself was annoying. She _knew_ she what she was doing, and she _knew_ that she didn’t have to do it. She knew that the next time someone asked how she was she didn’t have to respond with a smile and say “I’m fine, thanks for asking.” But she would. Because that’s what she did.

The tight band had returned and she was coughing in earnest again.

Stop thinking, Hisana. Just… stop thinking.

Another minute and the coughs abated to a wheezing gasp.

A nurse was making her way over. The increased beeping on the ECG monitor had caught her attention. Happy that everything was as it should be, she helped Hisana remove the nebuliser mask and adjusted the bed so that she was more comfortable. “How are you feeling?”

Hisana smiled softly, “I’m fine. Much better, thank you.”

She wasn’t, of course.

But that had never stopped her before.


	14. Improper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byakuya is definitely not moping, Kaien is helping, and Shinji is... being Shinji.

Contrary to popular belief, Kuchiki Byakuya was not _moping_ , he was _mildly concerned_. It was Thursday morning and nearly a week had passed and he had yet to hear back and what if he’d completely misread the situation and what if she hated him or what if she was -

“Oi!” Byakuya flinched, narrowly missing a pen whacking him in the side of the head. “Just text her if you’re worried.” Kaien joined him on a white stone bench located just inside the western Shidaimon.

“What?” Byakuya looked at him, perplexed.

“Saito. Text her.”

Byakuya stared at the ground, silent. The packet of cigarettes he’d been fiddling with now rested motionless in his hand.

“You… You _did_ get her number, right?” Byakuya gritted his teeth, and Kaien shot up, arms in the air, exasperated. “Kuchikiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Kaien pointed an accusatory finger at him, “ _You_ are hopeless. Hopeless!”

Defensive, Byakuya looked purposefully away, nose in the air, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was fooling no one.

“For goodness sake, man. You’re brooding. _Brooding_.” Kaien poked him hard in the shoulder. Repeatedly. “You’re sitting here all… _broody_.” He waved his wife over frantically, shouting all the while, “He doesn’t have it!”

She trotted over briskly. “What do you mean he doesn’t have it?” Miyako gawked at Byakuya.

“Her number! He doesn’t have it!” Miyako groaned and rolled her head back.

“Well, what did you expect me to do? Just ask her for it?” Byakuya said impatiently. Didn’t they have better things to do? Anyway, who were they to assume they knew what was bothering him? It could have been anything.

Both Kaien and Miyako looked at each other before replying in unison, “Yes?” as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Byakuya looked horrified. “I… You… You can’t do that!” _He could do that???_

Kaien looked pained, “What do you mean _‘You can’t do that!’_? Why can’t you do that?”

Byakuya really wished they’d stop with the non-verbal communication between themselves; the shared looks, the being all… couple-y. It wasn’t helping.

“It would be…” Too forward? Desperate? Undignified? “ _Improper_. It would be improper.”

Improper was a good word. He liked it. It covered all manner of things.

“Improper? What _are_ you talking about? You’re asking for her number, not for her to marry you!” A terrible thought seem to wash over Kaien, “Oh God, you didn’t ask her to marry you, did you?”

Byakuya seemed to swell with indignation, “Of course I didn’t ask her to marry me! Do you think I’m stupid?”

Kaien tried to not say _‘Yes’_ , he really did, but he only ended looking like he was either extremely constipated or else suffering an aneurysm. Maybe both.

Miyako seemed to be having similar trouble, but she at least managed to keep quiet, if only by biting down on the inside of her cheek so hard she was beginning to notice the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.

Kaien sighed deeply, before returning to his seat next to Byakuya. “Look, Kuchiki, not that I’m trying to say anything, but-” he wilfully ignored Byakuya glowering at him, “- _but_ it’s a good job you’ve got all those aunts to marry you off, because there’s no way in hell you’re gonna manage it on your own. Just putting it out there.”

Byakuya grimaced at the mention of his aunts, they really were awful. He supressed a shudder as the image of Ōmaeda Maremi, a frightful woman with dreadful fashion sense, and far too much make up but also _not nearly enough_ , flashed through his mind. Even his Dad had voiced concern over _that_ match. Kuchiki Sōjun, who couldn’t say a bad word about _anyone_ , had made it quite clear that if they were serious about arranging an omiai, they had better start applying certain _minimum standards_ to their selection process.

Shihōin would continue to rib him for this until the day she died. Even then, he’d put money on her finding a way to come back and remind him of it on a regular basis.

Still, Kaien was right. If he didn’t sort his own love life out, _they_ most certainly would. He didn’t think he could stomach another Ōmaeda. Just thinking about it was making him queasy.

But none of this changed the fact that Saito Hisana was noticeably absent. Was she purposefully avoiding him? Had she already discovered that he was, in fact, a terrible person? Did she think he was cheap for having only taken her to some kitschy café rather than the customary establishment of fine dining? Perhaps she was put off by the thought that he was a smoker?

That had been a dreadful idea, in retrospect. He didn’t know why he did it. Well, he did. She was approximately four foot eight, and probably weighed in at around ten pounds sopping wet. She really was very thin; too thin. Frail, almost. Kami, what if something had happened to her? What if she was dead or dying or… worse? She’d left so suddenly last Friday. What if something was horribly wrong and he’d been sat here this whole time just thinking about himself and his own personal pity party. He was so selfis-

“OI!” There was a sharp cuff to the back of his head. “You’re doing it again!” Kaien turned to his wife muttering, “No wonder she’s in hiding, if he’s like this. It’s pathetic. He’ll be getting the eyeliner out in a minute.”

The problem with Shiba Kaien, Byakuya thought, was that not only was he _right_ , but that he was also incredibly _loud_ about it.

So loud, it appeared that he had summoned the rest of them.

Byakuya did a double take. “What on _earth_ is that?”

Hiyori and Kensei were doing their level best to distance themselves from the approaching spectacle, whilst Love appeared to be as unfazed as ever. Lisa seemed to find the whole thing utterly hilarious (Lisa who, it should be noted, was wearing a rather large pair of binoculars around her neck). And then there was Shinji.

At least, there was what Byakuya could only _assume_ was Shinji. There was, at any rate, a particularly lanky humanoid… _thing_ heading their way in full camouflage; a ghillie suit. The sort of thing that grown men wear when rolling around in fox scat and deer musk in the name of tracking and observing and hunting wild beasts in their natural habitat, but most certainly not something you’d expect to see a student of law wearing to class.

Even Shiba Kaien seemed to be having trouble getting his head around this one.

Before he could say anything, Hiyori silenced him with an especially vicious snarl as she hurried past, “Don’t. Just don’t.” Both she and Kensei were wearing the sort of expressions that said they were seriously deliberating putting their friend out of his misery.

Love joined them as they watched Lisa and Shinji scoping out the trees and Kaien questioned hesitantly, “Err… Dare I even ask?”

Love simply shrugged as he pulled a manga depicting a very angry samurai warrior on its cover out of his bag, “Birdwatching, apparently.” Kaien looked sceptical and unconvinced.

Byakuya scoffed, “And I suppose that it’s entirely coincidental that this birdwatching session happens to be at the time when the life models are in?”

Kaien looked at him, wide-eyed, “Wha-? Really?!”

Miyako turned to him with a calculating stare, eyebrow raised. Shit. Byakuya had forgotten she was there, she was so quiet. It was that sort of knowing look that women were so good at; the one that told husbands that they _knew_ and that they were in for a world of trouble when they got home. He averted his gaze and prayed his ears weren’t glowing as hot as they felt.

Unfortunately, even idiots have moments when their brain catches up with the world around them, and just as Byakuya thought he’d mostly gotten away with it, Kaien’s did just that.

“Hang on… How do _you_ know when the life models are in?”

Strangely, this happened at precisely the same time Byakuya needed to go for a walk and stretch his legs.

At least he knew that even at his worst he’d never be so undignified as to go out in public in a frigging ghillie suit.

It was small consolation for a man who was most definitely _not moping_ , but sometimes that’s all it takes to make a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that NO ONE in the entire history of the universe has EVER called Kirio's patisserie "kitsch", and it most certainly is not "cheap". When Hisana talks about eating the back end off of a scabby donkey, it's probably because the only eateries that she has ever been in serve this as the pinnacle of haute cuisine.


	15. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisana makes a start on her bucket list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me begin by saying that this chapter has been an absolute pig's arse to finish. I had finished it weeks ago. Unfortunately, my migraine addled brain did not think it necessary to save it. (Save changes to document? Pfft. No.) I know I have missed things in the rewrite. I am not happy with it, but if I don't post this now, it'll be another twelve years before I do.
> 
> This chapter is also not an advert for a branded confectionary, even if it does play a key role. I don't think I've even seen the biscuits named in the flesh, never mind eaten them. But, also, I have never wanted to eat something so badly in my life. I will buy some. I will eat them. I WILL re-enact this chapter. I daresay Mr GF will also, unwittingly, play his role in being unimpressed with my childish behaviour. I will let you know how it goes.

Hisana was feeling great, actually. She was already making a start on her bucket list. Admittedly she was doing it in the wrong order, but wasn’t that sort of the point? If she couldn’t break her own self-imposed rules then she may as well give up and go home, hide under the covers and never resurface to see the light of day again. But no, she was soldiering on and it was oddly liberating.

Her Mum had also been surprisingly settled after last week’s fiasco. And little Rukia was a darling, as ever, and Hisana was incredibly glad to have her back and get everyone home. They’d had a nice quiet weekend with no silly fits of temper, no destruction of the plumbing, and no melodrama.

All in all, this week was off to a rollicking good start.

Not to mention a sugary one.

It was fortunate, in a way, that she’d ended up in hospital. On the Wednesday evening one of her classmates, Nel, had turned up with what appeared to be enough sweets to supply all of Tokyo. They weren’t particularly close, but she was a lovely girl, if a bit ditzy. In any case, it saved her the bother of buying them.

It was also fortunate that it was so early in the morning and no one was around, because she had suddenly been taken by the urge to see just how many Hello Panda biscuits she could stack and balance on her nose. It was considerably harder than she was expecting. They were tricky little blighters, and so far she hadn’t managed to keep a single one on there for any longer than four seconds, never mind an entire tower of them.

Maybe her nose was wonkier than she realised. It wasn’t the sort of thing she normally paid particular attention to, her appearance. (Was she clean? Yes. Was she dressed? Yes. Had she done her hair? An attempt was made. Sort of.) But the finer details like whether or not her nose was the right shape simply wasn’t really high up on her priorities first thing in the morning. Or at any time of day, to be honest. The bridge itself was almost perfectly straight, but the tip had an upturned point. Made her look a bit snooty, apparently. Or like a rat, as someone had once kindly informed her at school. Well, whatever was wrong with her nose, it was completely overshadowed by its appalling inability to balance rounded biscuits on it. Maybe if she sort of squished it...

“What _are_ you doing?”

She almost inhaled a panda and punched herself in the face as she bolted upright from her horizontal position on the smoking shelter bench.

“Kuchiki-sama!” Blushing furiously, she began hastily wiping the crumbs off of her face. “You’re in early.” She glanced at her watch. Oh. Maybe not. Just how long had she been making a total tit of herself? Oh well. She grinned sheepishly.

These were some tasty pandas.

She wondered just how many she could fit in her mouth at once.

“Stop that.”

“What?” Hisana tried unsuccessfully to mask the fact that her cheeks were now bulging with far more biscuits than they should be, mostly hampered by the fact that one tried to escape as she answered him.

Byakuya did little to hide his disapproval. “Please don’t tell me that this is your breakfast.”

“…” Hisana’s guilty expression as she did her best to not choke on the crumbs that were tickling the back of her throat said it all.

She was also beginning to question just _how_ she was going to empty her mouth in a manner that was fit for present company. The fact of the matter was, there was simply no way that she was getting out of this predicament without absolutely disgracing herself.

Just for the record, Kuchiki Byakuya really wasn’t helping, because he was just stood there, staring and impassive. His face was completely devoid of emotion but he was clearly horrified at the grotesque wreck before him. And in that moment it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. And that gave her The Giggles. Which led to the snorting. And the choking. Until she was doubled over in agony, but also hysterical laughter, in a self-perpetuating mess, and he was still just stood there, staring.

Staring.

_Staring_.

By the time her fit was over, and the tears were streaming down her face, she managed to hoarsely inform him, “I regret nothing. _Nothing_.”

Byakuya gave her a stern look of disapproval. She was sorely tempted to stick her tongue out at him, but instead opted for the old favourite ‘doe-eyed innocence’. It was super effective!

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

Without warning, Byakuya reached over and snatched the box away. “That’s it. I’m confiscating them.” Before she had a chance to react, he was holding the box aloft, reading aloud the nutritional information.

He was not impressed.

He opened the pack and peered inside.

It was nearly empty.

He _stared_ at her.

She stared back.

This was worse than The Great Coffee Debate.

From a short distance away, a frowning Shiba Kaien angled his head down to his wife, “Are we witnessing some bizarre Kuchiki mating ritual or something, because I… cannot… I mean, wha-? Whe-?” He rubbed his eyes in despair. All last week, this man was an absolute mess over this girl, and now he was lecturing her on the virtues of a good nutritional breakfast and healthy living. He hadn’t even said hello to her!

It rather begged of the question why he, Shiba Kaien, was even bothering trying to make this happen.

She had just spotted them out of the corner of her eye. “Miyako-san!” Saito Hisana was now waving frantically to his wife. Well, she was certainly energetic this morning.

Miyako was _delighted_. “Good morning, Hisana-san. How are you, my lovely?”

Hisana nodded enthusiastically, “Me? Oh, I’m great! I’m feeling all kind of… of… fizzy! Yes, fizzy.” And full of it, whatever ‘it’ was. Probably the kind of restless energy that builds up when you’ve been stuck in bed all week doing nothing when you very much wanted to be anywhere else doing anything but.

Miyako whispered in her husband’s ear, “Kaien. Kaien, I _want one_.”

“Want what?” he asked, confused.

“A Saito. Get me one. Please.”

It took a moment for what she said to sink in. “You want a what? A-? Miyako! She’s not a pet! I can’t just go down the store and buy one.” Miyako sniffed at him. “Besides… there are laws against that sort of thing these days.”

He trailed off and watched warily as a pouting Hisana came over and linked arms with his wife. “Miyako-san, Miyako-san…” She took a deep, dramatic sigh before pointing an accusatory finger at Byakuya, “He stole my Pandas!”

Miyako was more than happy to play along as the consoling parent as Hisana dragged her towards the smoking shelter. “Oh, well now, that’s not very nice is it? Kuchiki-sama, why would you do such a thing?”

Byakuya pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at her before replying through gritted teeth, “I have not _stolen_ them; I am withholding them until such time that Saito-san has learned to make better life choices.”

Hisana gave a pitiful whine with all the force of a stroppy teenager and petulant toddler combined, “Make him give them ba-aack!” She figured if she was winding him up, she may as well do it properly. Especially now she had back up.

Byakuya turned his back on them with his arms crossed and nose up in the air and declared snottily, “I refuse to give in to the demands of someone who just tried to kill herself with her own gluttony.” He peered back at her, “Also, you are being childish.”

“Funny, someone said I was “ridiculous” the other day. Come to think of it, he was a miserable git, as well.”

“That was me,” Byakuya said flatly.

“Oh yeah! So it was.” She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Like I said, he was a miserable git.”

Kaien snorted. It had been a while since he saw _that_ holier-than-thou expression. To clarify, Kuchiki _always_ had a holier-than-thou expression, it’s just that this time he knew he was being _just as bad_. He was _enjoying it_.

Saito was rather harder to read, but he suspected that she was completely oblivious to the effect she was having upon the young noble. Hardly surprising considering his happy face was decidedly not happy. Still, she already seemed well acquainted with the first rule of life: never miss an opportunity to take the piss out of Kuchiki.

Hisana had relinquished her grip on Miyako, which was just as well, because she was being very animated with her movements. “Just because you don’t like sweets!” She turned to the Shibas. “Did you know he doesn’t like sweets? Who doesn’t like sweets? No one! Only Mr Lah-Di-Dah over there.”

“Is she normally like this?” Kaien quietly asked his wife, as she tried (and failed) to stifle her amusement by biting on the tip of her thumb. He turned back to see Hisana reclaiming the near-empty box with some rather impressive manoeuvring, it must be said. Not that Kuchiki seemed to mind being tackled. Not by _her_ , at any rate.

He blinked and Hisana was brandishing the box in a manner reminiscent of Hamlet with poor Yorick, before launching into what was possibly The Best Worst Kuchiki Byakuya Impression in the History of the World Ever.

Kaien knew it was going to be good because she opened with the line, “Behold, peasants!”, and if that wasn’t the most Kuchiki shit he’d ever heard, he would go out and buy himself a hat solely for the purpose of eating it. Unfortunately, much of the act was hindered somewhat by their ongoing tussle and Hisana trying her best to shove the little remaining confectionary in her mouth during that brief moment when Byakuya had his eyes closed in exasperation.

Kuchiki’s face was _priceless_. Still, this is what you get for inflicting an unwanted TED talk about the nutritional properties of a banana upon unsuspecting victims at five past eight on a Monday morning.

Suddenly, something in Kuchiki’s demeanour changed and he was frowning in such a manner that caused Kaien to groan. Talk about mercurial. Surely he had to learn to have _some_ fun sooner or later? Kaien pondered intervening before they landed in Kuchiki-Sulk-Mode, but Miyako stopped him with a subtle shake of her head and a finger to his wrist.

Hisana froze, before realising that the line of his gaze landed on her left hand. Ah. _That_. She hastily pulled her sleeve down to completely cover the now faded bruise resulting from last week’s cannula. It was still a lovely blend of purple and blue bleeding into yellow, though. Kind of like her own mini-Monet. Anyway, now was a good time to change the subject.

“Have you had your morning swill, yet?”

Byakuya blinked at her, perplexed.

“Your coffee. I owe you a drink, don’t I?” She’d already started walking away from him to collect her bag, ignoring his mutterings that she didn’t _owe_ him anything. “Did you two want anything?”

Both Shibas shook their heads as Miyako replied warmly, “No thank you, my lovely.”

Hisana leant towards her conspiratorially, whispering, “And don’t say anything, but… I’m starting to feel a little sick.”

“Too many Pandas?” Miyako stroked Hisana’s hair sympathetically as she bent over to pick up bag up.

She grimaced and nodded, “I think so.” After a moment’s pause, she suddenly brightened, “Worth it though!” before practically skipping off and grabbing Byakuya to get drinks.

Did she really just navigate her way out of a Kuchiki Sulk? Unscathed? Kaien was impressed. Impressed, and slightly dazzled. And so, with any reservations about his wife’s judgement completely dissipated, he turned to her and said, “Okay, where do we get them and how many did you want?”


End file.
